


Inescapable

by YanderexBabydoll



Series: The Path Not Taken [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blind Character, F/M, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jealousy, Kinda, Possessive Behavior, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Toxic Relationships, Unrequited Love, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:15:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29609280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanderexBabydoll/pseuds/YanderexBabydoll
Summary: There's no running, not from the name written on your arm.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Reader, Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Series: The Path Not Taken [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175246
Comments: 38
Kudos: 201





	Inescapable

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the second part to Always, a little bit further down the timeskip. You don't have to have read that one before starting this, but this fic will probably make more sense if you have. Anyway, I hope you like it!

“Stay here,” he murmurs, soft lips brushing briefly against your cheek before you feel his warmth retreat.

It’s an effort to quell the fleeting panic that rises in his absence. Japan is your home – _was_ your home – but Tokyo… You’re not supposed to be in the village. Only the athletes, trainers and the support crew for the national team were supposed to stay there. It kept out distractions, made it easier for security, gave the athletes the space to focus on what they’re there for; to compete. To win. 

You don’t know how he did it, what strings he had to pull, but somehow he’d managed.

A room for the two of you. _Just_ the two of you.

“You’re staying with me,” he’d told you when you’d brought up the possibility of going home to Miyagi to visit your family, or even spend a few days with Makki and Mattsun. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

The words had been whispered, a soft, teasing purr as lips curled into a smirk at your neck, but you know what he’s like when he’s competing. The focus and obsession he’ll throw himself into. 

Especially when you both know _who_ he’ll be competing against. 

Nevertheless, you’re here. Alone now, standing in a sea of strangers talking too loud in a cacophony of foreign tongues while Tooru left to go find his team–

Strong, familiar arms encircle your waist, a kiss pressed to the top of your head. 

– but only for a moment.

“C’mon, cutie. Let’s get going – Coach gave us twenty before he wants us at the gym.”

—

You know one or two of the players on the national team from San Juan. They’re friendly enough, and they’ll stop and chat with you on the odd nights you venture out into the cafeterias dotted around the village for dinner. But for the most part they’re focused on other things and Tooru–

Tooru’s possessive enough of your attention at the best of times. 

Which means that you’re either with him, tucked carefully under his arm as he guides you around the village, or you’re stuck in the room, bored out of your mind waiting for him to come home to you. And for lack of anything better to do, you have the games playing on the TV.

Just for the sound of your mother tongue filling the room around you. Just so you won’t be alone with your thoughts for too long.

It’s different, back home in San Juan. But you understand it – why he brought you. 

_“Where I go, you go, always.”_

_“Always.”_

And the loneliness is worth it, you think, when he sinks down into the mattress beside you after a long day’s training and pulls you close, nuzzling into your side. This is better than being left behind. You’re here to support the man you love. Your soulmate, the name on your arm be damned. 

His good luck charm, he hums, kissing you in the early hours of the morning before slipping away. 

But even you can’t just sit around the apartment all day long. It’s good to stretch your legs, even when you’re in strange, unfamiliar territory. You tell yourself that what Tooru doesn’t know won’t hurt him, forgetting just for one blissful moment that your soulmate and his team are not the only ones who might catch you wandering. 

Of course, that realisation doesn’t sink in until broad shoulders suddenly barrel past you, knocking you off your feet. And you would have fallen, awkwardly probably, had a pair of strong, lean arms not caught at your waist, steadying you.

“Jeeze, Bokkun! Watch where yer goin’, wouldja!”

The first voice, the thick, drawling Kansai dialect isn’t familiar, but the voice that follows is impossible to misplace.

“Thought I told you two–”

It cuts off abruptly, and in some distant part of your brain you register that the stranger’s still holding you, the warmth of his hand still braced on your hip, but all you can really focus on is the owner of that second voice.

“Iwa?”

Tooru had told you he’d be here, Hinata too and Kageyama. And of course Ushijima, but you’d assumed that – at least up until they played against one another or team Japan got knocked out of the running – they’d be busy and you wouldn’t cross paths.

There’s a surprised intake of air from your left – ‘Bokkun’, you imagine – and he asks, “Wait, you know her, dude?”

And still, the warm body holding you doesn’t move an inch. Not until a familiar, irritated huff sounds, “Get your hands off her, dumbass.”

The body behind you tenses for a split second before obeying, hands ripping themselves away from you as if he’d been scalded. “Shit, sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine,” you murmur with what you hope is a polite smile, only half paying attention because you can hear Iwa striding towards you. In one breath, he’s knocking back your saviour and pulling you into a one armed hug.

“Shittykawa said he’d be bringing you,” he says quietly as you squeeze him back. It’s been such a long time since you’ve been face to face with him. Tooru calls him to catch up most weeks, more often than putting him on speaker so that you can say hi, but it’s not the same. “Didn’t think he meant to the _actual_ village, though.”

You’ve missed him, you realise. Him and Makki and Mattsun, and suddenly there’s a lump in your throat, emotions welling that you can’t name. There’s so much you want to say to him, things he knows but should be said anyway, but–

“Aren’t you gonna introduce us to your pretty friend, Iwa?”

Your cheeks heat as the two of you part, yet it’s Iwa who answers for the both of you.

“No. You two need to get your asses moving,” he says. “Back to the gym, now. Unless you wanna stay back after everyone else finishes up to run extra drills?”

It’s a clear dismissal, and the two only pause for a heartbeat before grumbling their assent – and one sheepish apology – and heading off to continue their run.

“Let me walk you back.”

Some things never change, you suppose. “Iwa, you have an Olympic team to train,” you tell him with a wry grin. ”I’m not going to risk being accused of sabotaging the Japanese national volleyball team just because you feel the need to be gentlemanly.”

It’s clearly meant as a tease, but instead of the good-natured huff you’re expecting, he sighs. “C’mon. You almost got knocked on your ass, let me walk you back.”

It’s not a suggestion, and as he takes you by the hand and starts leading you back the way you came you’re reminded of high school - he used to do _exactly_ same thing any timeTooru wasn’t around. There’s a slight flicker of irritation at your first breath of fresh air without Oikawa’s overprotective hovering being snatched away, but you know he means well.

He always does.

So you shove those feelings down and offer him a smile. “You know I’m stupidly proud of you, right?” you tell him. “Both of you.”

And something in Iwa relaxes and he laughs, “Yeah well I’m just glad you’re gonna be here to witness me wipe the floor with Shittykawa’s ass.”

—

It’s late, and Tooru isn’t back yet. 

And it wouldn’t bother you except that lunch had been hours ago, and your stomach is starting to growl, hunger settling in. 

Tooru works hard, he pushes himself and stays late when he should be home resting, you know that, but even if you did want to go and find him, pull him back so that he won’t push past his limits days out from competing, you wouldn’t have a clue where to find him – not in this sprawling maze of a complex.

What else can you do but wait, as fifteen minutes turns into half an hour, then an hour, and suddenly it’s almost nine. 

He won’t be happy that you’ve left without him, but either he’ll meet you at the cafeteria, or you’ll get home before he’s back and you’ll have dinner waiting for him. At this time of the night it’s likely to be empty anyway, it’s not like you’re running off in the middle of the dinner rush.

Most of the athletes’ll be back in their rooms, you’re not gonna get knocked around in the mad scramble for food, nobody’s going to pay you any mind.

But once again, you’re proven wrong. 

It’s not quite the roaring din that you’ve come to associate with the dining hall, but you can hear a few quiet conversations scattered throughout the room. At least none of them pay you any heed as you slowly wander the buffet, shyly asking one of the servers to help you pick out something for you and Tooru both.

It’s not until you move to take a seat, hoping that Tooru will get there before you have to try and cart his dinner back to the room that you hear the unmistakable scraping of a chair being dragged back beside you.

“Ya know, Iwaizumi never did end up telling us yer name,” a familiar voice states, settling down into the seat. “He did end up making me ‘n Bokuto run extra laps as punishment for knockin’ into ya, though.”

Out of habit, your fingers fiddle with the sleeve of your jacket – Tooru’s actually – warmth flooding your cheeks. He doesn’t sound pissed off by the fact, and you suppose he probably wouldn’t have sat down beside you if all he wanted was to pick a fight. 

“Oh, I’m… sorry?” It comes out sounding more like a question than anything else. 

He laughs at that, the sound surprisingly warm and pleasant. “Nah, not your fault. Iwa’s a hardass at the best of times.”

“Sounds like he hasn’t changed much since high school,” you muse.

Oikawa might’ve been Captain back then, but that never stopped Iwa from slapping him upside of the head whenever he did something particularly stupid. He _was_ a hard ass, but he was also incredible at keeping the rest of the team in line and motivated, and he kept Tooru grounded. He kept _you_ grounded. Aggressive, tough love was simply a part of that. 

You wonder distantly if his new team realizes just how lucky they are to have somebody like him in their corner.

“High school? Ya knew him back then?” he prods.

He’s a stranger. Not just a competitor, but ‘The Enemy’ just like Kageyama and Ushiwaka. Out of all the teams that Tooru might go up against during the games, you know that they’re the ones he’s most determined to defeat. And you don’t necessarily buy into the whole ‘destined rivals’ thing – Kageyama was never anything but polite to you, but you know you’re supposed to back your soulmate up on this. You know he’d be pissed to find you casually chatting away with any one of them, except maybe Hinata. 

Maybe.

But it’s nice just to indulge in a conversation – even meaningless small talk – with somebody who doesn’t know you as Tooru’s. You can’t help but relax a little, the tension easing from your shoulders, a small smile creeping across your face. 

“I’ve known Iwa since I was six years old. He’s one of my best friends.”

The man hums a little, his chair creaking as he leans back, “Really? He’s never mentioned ya.”

And it’s clear from the sharp intake of his breath that he regrets the words the moment they’re said, but instead of feeling offended, you simply laugh, the sound bubbling up before you can stop it. 

“It’s fine,” you say when he tries to backtrack. “Do you often have deep and meaningful’s with Iwa about his childhood friends?”

He snorts, “Yeah, point taken, I guess. So how come yer here then? Didn’t think they allowed cheerleaders in the village, even the cute ones.”

Something flutters in your stomach at his tone; it’s warm like honey, just a hint of teasing. He’s flirting, you realise, and in an instant you know you should shut it down. Harmless small talk is one thing, but you’re–

You have your soulmate. 

“What makes you think I’m not staff?” you ask instead.

“No uniform,” he counters, and you can’t argue with that. It’s not your fault that you can’t see what everybody’s wandering around wearing. “And you don’t really strike me as the ‘athlete’ type, no offense.”

You don’t really know how to respond to that, so you just shrug somewhat self consciously. He’s not wrong; you don’t really belong here, but you find yourself reluctant to tell him the truth.

The only reason you’re here is because Tooru cheated the system, because he couldn’t bear to be without you.

Or maybe because he knows how much of a mess you are without him. Blind and helpless without him to guide you, even here, back in the country you’d both left behind all those years ago.

“I’m here to support my soulmate,” you tell him instead, and it’s not entirely a lie. No matter what, you’ll always support Oikawa – here, back home, to whatever ends. That was the promise you’d made to each other long before you’d ever left Japan.

There’s a short pause, and you take the opportunity to turn back to the plate of food in front of you – you’d forgotten about it entirely. You half expect that he’ll take it as the perfect opportunity to politely bow out of the conversation. 

You might’ve been blind, but you’re not naive; you know exactly what athletes get up to after the sun goes down in the village. There’s a reason that your welcome packs were stuffed full of free condoms. 

And you’re not interested in that. You have Tooru and he has you. If that’s all that this guy is after; some quick, meaningless fuck, then–

“Volleyball?” he asks, and you almost roll your eyes.

He’s not wrong, of course he’s not, and you suppose considering your connection with Iwa it makes sense that he’d make that leap, but still. One track mind, all of them.

“If I tell you, you might not like me very much,” you say in lieu of an answer.

He leans closer, the chair creaking once more. “So I’m right.” He sounds so smug about it, you almost wanna tell him he’s wrong just to mess with him a little. “What position does he play?”

Not what team, what position. That, more than anything else, mattered to him – and again, you understood it. The pride players took in their position within the machine.

“You first,” you shoot back instead, because you feel like you have a sneaking suspicion. 

And with a little huffing laugh, he confirms it, “Setter.”

Of course.

And the smile on your face tugs wider, a strange trill running through you, “Ah, and here I thought _Kageyama_ ,” you draw the name out, “was Japan’s starting setter.”

He scoffs, dragged in by your teasing jab, “Yer kiddin’, right? Tobio’s talented an’ all, but he ain’t half the setter I am.”

Cocky _and_ smug. You wonder if he has the skills to back it up. Yet just as you open your mouth to pry further, you’re interrupted by a voice.

Several actually. 

“Talking shit again, Miya?”

“Who’s she?”

“Oh hey – Iwa’s friend!”

And your heart skips a beat, your body tensing as those voices close in, more chairs being pulled out, trays of food dumped on the table as his teammates settle down around you. It’s just a name, one name. It doesn’t mean anything, doesn’t–

“Atsumu, why don’t you shut– oh. Y/N, hey. Didn’t realise you'd be here. Isn’t the village restricted to athletes only?”

Kageyama’s blunt greeting isn’t intended to be antagonistic, but it washes over you regardless. You’re frozen, heart pounding, a sick, twisting feeling settling into your gut.

Atsumu, he’d said.

Miya Atsumu. 

Two words, and your world stops spinning. 

You’d promised him – Tooru – years ago that the name on your arm didn’t mean anything. It was all just a cruel cosmic mistake because from the moment you met him, you were his, and he was yours and _nothing else mattered_.

And you’d told yourself that, repeated it like a mantra until you started to believe it yourself. Because Tooru loved you, you were his soulmate and what kind of horrible fucking person would you be to take that gift, that bond and shove it back in his face.

Tooru isn’t perfect, and he’d freaked out and lied to you, but he’s your soulmate. 

The name on your arm didn’t matter, it didn’t matter that you didn’t know whose it was, because you had Tooru. It should have been his.

And you told yourself that for six months, until some blowout fight had Tooru storming out, you following in his footsteps. 

It was a stranger, some random passerby in the street. You can’t remember what prompted you to stop her and ask, why it suddenly mattered when Tooru had all but convinced you that it didn’t, but you had.

Miya Atsumu. The pronunciation had been unsure, her tongue clunky over the foreign syllables, but in that moment when you’d heard his name every lie you’d convinced yourself of had fallen apart.

It was like you’d been drowning without ever realising it, and the second you’d heard that name a hand was dragging you up to the surface and suddenly air was flooding your lungs.

Miya Atsumu.

There are voices surrounding you, somebody laughing uproariously, but it’s all just white noise. 

“Y/N,” a choked, hoarse whisper that shouldn’t have been heard, but it pierces you like a knife, cutting through everything else. It’s too much. 

On shaking legs you stand, knocking your chair back as you grab for your cane. 

The name hadn’t mattered, until you’d heard it. _He_ hadn’t mattered, until he was standing right there in front of you.

“I– I have to go,” you mutter, not entirely sure if they heard you, or if they even cared. You leave your food untouched on the table, stumbling as you step back.

And again, you hear that whisper of your name. There’s a hand that reaches for you – his or somebody else’s you don’t know, you shrug it off regardless. “I have to go.”

Nobody stops you as you skitter back towards the entrance, but for once the cafeteria is silent. The moment you burst out through the double doors, the brisk, summer night air hits you like a slap, and you don't realise that your cheeks are wet with tears until the breeze cuts through, the damp skin prickling uncomfortably. 

And the sob that follows rips through your chest like a knife.

This isn’t what you wanted. 

If there’s a god out there, he must have a cruel sense of humour, because your name is being called again, and suddenly there’s a hand on your cheek brushing at your tears, an arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you close. “Cutie, what’s wrong?”

The scent of him, all citrus and summer, invades your nose as you clutch at him tighter. You can’t speak, can’t find the words to tell him, so you just squeeze your eyes shut and burrow into him. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he repeats, not asking this time. 

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “I want to go home,” you whisper, clutching at his jersey. “I wanna go home, Tooru.”

A kiss brushes against the crown of your head, and you almost miss the sound of footsteps pounding on the pavement behind you – at least until the interloper speaks.

“You–” Atsumu breaks off, his breath ragged and raw, and you don’t miss the way that Oikawa stiffens, his grip tightening, fingers digging in. “Yer my soulmate.”

Three simple words, and everything, _everything_ just falls apart.

Tooru snarls, taking a step back and dragging you with him. “She’s not your anything, Miya. Fuck off.”

_“You can’t leave me! You can’t - you’re mine!”_

It hurts, the grip he has on you. He’s trembling, from rage or fear you honestly don’t know, but you can feel his heart pounding a vicious beat as his arms lock around you like a cage.

“Yeah, that’s why it’s my goddamn name on her arm. Let ‘er go, yer hurting her,” he snaps. 

“She’s _my_ soulmate, so mind your own business and run off back home.”

You can’t breathe.

“Not when yer hurting her.”

It’s like the floor’s suddenly disappeared from beneath you, and you’re in free fall, hurtling back towards god knows what. Your head’s spinning, your legs feel like jelly, and if Tooru wasn’t holding you up against him, you’re not sure you’d still be standing. 

You can’t breathe. 

“Leave, _right now_ ,” he hisses. “She’s mine. She always has been, and always will be mine!”

You’d promised him that much, hadn’t you?

“Ya don’t scare me, and I don’t give a flying _fuck_ if yer wearing her name on your arm. That’s my soulmate, and you’ll take yer fucking hands off ‘a her.”

You can’t breathe, not as the shouting gets louder and Tooru’s grip gets tighter. 

He takes another step back, pulling you with him, and another hiccuping sob catches in your throat. You try to speak, to stop this before it gets any worse, but the words won’t come–

“You’re hurting her!”

“I LOVE HER!” he screams. “I would never, _ever_ hurt her!”

“T–Tooru, please…” you beg. It’s little more than a whisper, and neither one of them seems to hear it.

But somebody else does. 

“Hey, _hey_! What the fuck are you dumbasses doing?!” 

Iwa, always your second protector, your best and oldest friend, wastes no time in getting between the two of them, shoving Miya back.

“What is wrong with you both?!” he snaps, grabbing you by the wrist and ripping you from Oikawa. And you don’t fight it when he tugs you towards him, a protective arm wrapping around your waist. 

You cling to him, like a scared child with tears streaming down your face. 

“Iwa–”

“No, shut up. I don’t wanna hear a single word out of either one of you! Not a goddamn word!”

He doesn’t bother berating them in front of you, though you know that’ll come later. He doesn’t say anything to you either, but his hand doesn’t leave yours all the way back to his apartment. Not the one in the village, but the one just outside of the city.

“You knew, didn’t you?” you ask quietly when he drops his keys on the counter.

There’s a beat of silence, and he sighs. “Yeah, I knew.”

It’s hanging in the air between you, like a dark, stormy cloud about to unleash. “Iwa,” you whisper, your bottom lip trembling once more. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” he answers, as honestly as he can. “But you’re gonna stay here tonight, and tomorrow I’ll call Makki and Mattsun and they’ll come and take you back to Sendai for a little while if that’s what you want. You don’t have to see either one of those assholes, not until…” 

Not until you figure out how you’re supposed to make this impossible choice. 

He squeezes your shoulder as you sniffle. “It’s gonna be alright, whatever you decide to do.”

Neither one of you truly believes that, but what’s left to say?

He hugs you again before he leaves, makes you promise to call if you need him, but you both know you won’t.

Not tonight, not when he has other priorities. 

And then you’re alone, sitting on his couch surrounded by blankets with a mug of hot chocolate warming your hands. You know you should try to get some sleep, you’re exhausted, overwhelmed, but every time you close your eyes, you can’t stop thinking about it.

About the way Tooru’s voice had shook, how you’d smiled for Atsumu, that familiar warmth blooming in your chest when the two of you talked and you’d teased him.

And you remember how it was the day Tooru first told you that he loved you, the butterflies in your stomach the first time he’d kissed you, spinning you around and laughing as his lips met yours again and again and again. 

How he’d yelled and screamed and fallen apart in your arms that night, begging you not to leave him. 

You love him, for better or for worse, you love him. 

A loud knock echoes through the apartment, shaking you from your thoughts.

It’s almost 2am, and nobody but Iwa knows you’re here. Nobody should be knocking, and so you sit, frozen in the dark listening as your heart hammers uneasily.

One beat, then two, and then–

“I know you’re in there, just– just please. I need… I need–” he breaks off with a frustrated huff, and there’s a low thud, like his head’s fallen against the door. “Please,” he begs, quieter this time. 

There’s another thud.

“I need ya. Don’t lock me out, I’m beggin’.”


End file.
